


ways to fill the emptiness

by mickeysmiddlefinger



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, the dreampack makes an appearence too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 18:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeysmiddlefinger/pseuds/mickeysmiddlefinger
Summary: what kavinsky wants, kavinsky gets, and ronan lynch has proven to be a little bit more challenging.kavinsky is henrietta's best drug dealer, it's one of his many ways to fill the emptiness, to keep the fire burning. another way is to run away from the cops with ronan lynch.





	ways to fill the emptiness

The room smells of weed.

All five of them are spread out on Kavinsky’s couch, a documentary playing quietly in the background. Kavinsky’s voice is the loudest, his phone hanging loosely between his ear and his shoulder while he packs up the product in an old lottery ticket. 

“Sweet, twenty minutes” he says and hangs up. “Jiang, you’re running”

He throws a pair of car keys in Jiang’s lap. Jiang’s shoots Kavinsky a glance and throws them back harder, forcing a manic laugh out of Kavinsky’s dry mouth. 

“Fuck you, man” he says and looks back at the TV. “I delivered last time.” 

The coffee table is littered with credit cards, the rim laced with cocaine, lines, rolled up dollar bills, and Jiang’s feet resting on the edge of the black marble surface. Kavinsky hates the fucking thing.His mom got it years ago, said she saw it in a magazine and just had to have it. Maybe he should just dream up his own table, all neon with a big, fat K engraved.

“Proko” Kavinsky says and looks lovingly at Prokopenko. 

“Sorry, K” Proko says without looking at him, his eyes vacant. “The Ket is kicking in.” 

“You sons of bitches” Kavinsky says and throws on his white-rimmed sunglasses. “I’ll go.” 

The cocaine is for one of his more loyal customers, some coke-head and his girlfriend outside of town.

He does a line and heads out, product safely stored in a secret pocket. It’s twenty past three at night. Henrietta is quiet, and Kavinsky and his boys have been busy. He is the only dealer who is willing to drive out this late. Pussies, Kavinsky thinks as he gets in the car.

He had a vision recently, to become the best drug dealer in Henrietta. He dreamt up the best product on the market and got to work, selling on every corner of the city. 

“Yo, that’s not our territory” Swan said one time when Kavinsky asked him to drive out to the East of Henrietta. 

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” Kavinsky had said.

Swan came back that day, bruised and battered for selling on the wrong corner.

Kavinsky sent him back the next day.  
As he drives down the highway, a familiar face appears in the dark night.

A grin flashes across Kavinsky’s face. It’s Ronan Lynch, trying to get a sad excuse of a car to start.

Ronan is a dangerous walk on the edge between love and destruction. Being with him is painful in a way Kavinsky can’t describe, but being without him is painful, too. It hurts either way. He rolls down the window and sticks his head out. 

“How much do you take for a blowjob?” Kavinsky shouts. “Do I pay hourly or for the service?” 

Ronan squints his eyes, a frown appearing on his face when he sees Kavinsky’s malicious smile. 

“Car trouble?” Kavinsky asks and looks around dramatically. “Where’s your boy toy?” 

“My phone is dead” Ronan mutters and puts his hands at the back of his head. 

“I’ll give you a ride.” 

“I’m good” Ronan says and leans against the hood of the car, eyes on Kavinsky. 

“Come on” Kavinsky says. “Proko is too high to fuck and I’m feeling lonely tonight.” 

“Fuck off, Kavinsky” 

Kavinsky howls. “That’s what I like to hear. Seriously, are you gonna stay here until the sun comes up? Get in.” 

“Monmouth” Ronan says and points a finger at Kavinsky. “I’ll jump out of the fucking car if you take me somewhere else.” 

“Whatever, man” Kavinsky says as Ronan walks around the car and gets into the passenger seat. 

Kavinsky smells of after-shave and party. Ronan smells of sandalwood and perfume.

Kavinsky gets what Kavinsky wants, he knows that. He wakes up, and it’s there. If he can’t dream it, he’ll find another way, no matter what. Consent is overrated anyway. But he has to resist the urge to pull Ronan closer, to kiss him, to find out what he tastes like. It burns inside him to know that he can’t fuck up with him.

They speed quietly on the highway, speakers blaring so loud they don’t hear the sirens approaching behind them. Kavinsky glances up at the rearview mirror to see red and blue lights reflecting in his eyes. 

“Fuck” Ronan says and looks back. “Slow down.” 

Kavinsky laughs and turns off the music. The silence is deafening in the car. He is coked up and he was driving too fast. Shit, he probably doesn’t have his license with him.

The police car stops behind him as the officer steps out, his flashlight bright in Kavinsky’s face. Kavinsky makes him tap on the window a few times before he rolls it down. 

“Officer” he says and puts his sunglasses on. “How can I help?” 

“License and registration, please.” 

Kavinsky smiles. Partly because he can feel Ronan’s heartbeat from where he’s sitting, and partly because he knows he’s about to roll up his window and hit the gas. It happens to fast, all he can hear is Ronan shouting “fuck, Kavinsky” as the car takes off. 

Kavinsky howls loudly. Everything feels amplified from the cocaine; the speed, the red and blue lights behind him, Ronan. He knows exactly how to drive to evade the sad fuck trying to speed up behind him. It takes about fifteen minutes before he can stop, swerving on the breaks so hard the car spins around on the empty parking lot. He laughs manically, eyes wide open. His phone has about seven missed calls from the coke-head outside of town, but he couldn’t care less. Fuck, he could dream up customers if he wanted. 

Ronan’s eyes flicker, his heart beats so fast Kavinsky can almost see it through his shirt. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he breathes. 

Kavinsky swings his arm around Ronan’s neck. “Come on. You loved it.” 

“You’re an idiot” Ronan says and throws Kavinsky’s arm off his shoulders. 

Kavinsky laughs, a breath of relief leaving his lips. “Listen, Lynch. No matter how much you try to hide the animal inside you, it will always come back. You can only keep a wolf in a cage for so long.” 

Kavinsky leans back in his seat and looks at Ronan. He can only see the outline of his jaw, eyes and lips in the dark Henrietta night. Ronan’s eyes are fixed on Kavinsky, almost as if he’s looking at a crime scene. It’s brutal, and vicious, and ugly, but he can’t look away. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful” Kavinsky says. “Bet Dick never tells you that.” 

“Just drive me back, man.” 

Silence fills the car, and Kavinsky wants to burn.

He wants to set this whole fucking car on fire. He wants another line. He wants to kiss Ronan. He feels like a three-legged wolf. Without warning, Kavinsky grabs the back of Ronan’s head and kisses him, tongue pressed down Ronan’s throat, hand on Ronan’s thigh, his breath on Ronan’s breath. He wants Ronan to leave a mark, so he knows it was real.

For a second, he feels Ronan’s fingers at the back of his head, before Ronan grabs his hair and yanks his head backwards, but Kavinsky stays close, forehead against forehead. Ronan doesn’t pull back. They stay like that for a few seconds before Ronan pushes Kavinsky away from him. Kavinsky smiles an almost sinister smile, stretching all over his pale face. 

“Piece of shit” Ronan mutters and opens the car door. “I’ll walk.” 

“Remember, sweetheart” Kavinsky says, stopping him halfway out the car. “The animal you’re trying to hide will find you the next day. And the next. And the next.” 

Ronan looks over his shoulder, eyes sullen. “One day you’ll realize how fucking lonely you are, Kavinsky.” 

He slams the car door behind him and it sounds like a gunshot in Kavinsky’s ears. He opens the bag of coke and takes a line from his key. His car is buzzing with emptiness. At home, Proko is deep in the K-hole, Jiang is probably asleep, Swan on the way to buy some more liquor at the gas station. Outside of town, Kavinsky sits alone in his Evo, leftover powder under his nose, trying to remember the taste of Ronan’s lips before the memory fades.

Then, suddenly, he smiles. Stupid son of a bitch, he thinks, watching Ronan’s back as he walks out to the main road. What Ronan doesn’t know is that Kavinsky slipped a little paper stamp laced with tranquilizer into his mouth and down his throat. In minutes, Ronan is going to pass out, enter the land of dreams, the only place they can be together. 

Kavinsky takes a paper stamp of his own, puts it on his tongue, and closes his eyes. 

“I’ll see you on the other side.”


End file.
